


A Mostly Pointless Story

by Lovova



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, Hat Films, Kinda Cracky, No more then the actual series is though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovova/pseuds/Lovova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much just another Filthy Animals episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mostly Pointless Story

A MOSTLY POINTLESS STORY  
A Filthy Animals One-Shot Fanfic  
By Lovova

AUTHORS NOTE: Not gonna lie, guys, this fic got away from me a bit XD Enjoy, and leave a comment; feedback is always appreciated, though if you don’t have anything to say then just leave a click on the like button so that I know you read it :) Also, if you have an idea for a Hatventure Fanfic, lay it on me, I’ll see if I can make it happen. I’m really enjoying this <3

-

My names Phil, and my names Steve, and no, just because that was one sentence does not mean that two people can’t have been saying it. If you’re confused over who finished that sentence, or who is saying this one, then get over it. We’re not bothering with all those ‘quotation marks’ or ‘proper grammar’ or ‘narrative structure’ nonsense. Figure out who’s talking on your own, and if you can’t, use your imagination. Maybe this is a whole new person, made up of some combination of Phil and Steve. Maybe the narrator isn’t Phil or Steve, and is just pretending to be them. Actually, don’t imagine that scenario, it’s way too meta for my constitution. I’m going to get the runs over this pretentious narrative flow in a minute, almost as bad as the time I tried that Glowstone Dust. Man, was that one hell of a trip! Better than those red mushrooms even!

Yes, before you get all confused and angry about what the heck is going on here, and why are these two weirdly colored sheep just prattling on and on, we are here to set up a story about all of our favourite filfy’ mobs and animals. It’s a stupid and mostly pointless tale, but anyone looking for deeper meaning from a squid that farts a lot and nether mobs that listen to heavy rave music probably needs to get off the computer and reconsider their life choices for awhile. For the rest of you, this story starts with a down and out private eye, relentlessly pursuing an open case of mass arson. A cold case for a while, the hunt is back on now that this persistent feline has heard that his scumbag arsonist has been spotted again; so he goes to his favourite stoolie to find out more from the grapevine...

-

Said stoolies name wasn’t actually ‘Philososquid’, because no mother is so cruel that she looks at her child and immediately decides ‘Yes, my child will be an annoying and self important geek.’, but his true name is lost to us, and doesn’t really matter anyway. So for convenience sake, the Squid now known as Philososquid was chatting idly with his constant companion....whose name we also don’t know, so we shall just call him ‘The Other Squid’.

“I know its a bit hard to grasp, dear fellow,” Philososquid continued on to The Other Squid, who had been bearing his ramblings without interruption so far today, “I know that its taken me at least a few hours just to form the theory myself, but if time is a physical thing that can be counted by seconds and minutes and hours, as we insist on doing so, then certainly time itself must be its own finite resource, and something that we as a reality could use up one day. Wouldn’t it just be fascinating if we could actually measure how long all of reality has left before we run out? What do you think fellow?”

The Other Squid didn’t have anything to say on the subject. He never did; still, Philososquid was certain that he could get his colleague to join into the conversation one day, if he could just find a subject that would peek his fellow intellectuals interest. Still, even if his slowly twirling friend had formed any opinion on the subject of the possible finite source that was time, his own philosophical musings would have been disturbed and ruined by the interruption of that mangy, mean cat, Old Claws.

“Squid.” Called Old Claws from above the water, staring down at the two floating squids with heavy, tired eyes, “Get up here. You have some information that belongs to me.”

“Oh not this flea-ridden asshole again,” Philososquid muttered to himself, turning to his colleague, who hadn’t shown any acknowledgment to their new company, “Forgive me dear fellow, I have to go and answer to this call, otherwise that thug will make this day utterly miserable for us. Do consider our discussion, I would be most interested in your own hypothesis on the concept when our visitor has left.”

Philososquid did not take it personally when, on his way up to the surface, he heard the painfully familiar sounds of air bubbles rising. His friend has bowel problems. It was certainly not a purposefully orchestrated show of disrespect towards himself and his conversations of interest...totally.

The squid settled near the surface of the water, where the old cat would be able to hear him, and making no attempt to hide the annoyance in his voice said, “Yes, yes, good day old chap, now what on earth could you possibly need from me now?. Have you still not managed to find, as you would so clichedly call him, ‘your perp’?”

“Watch yourself, chatty squid,” Old Claws warned, his ears narrowing against his head and his claws flexing ever so slightly from his scar-ridden claws, “Yes, I need the latest word on the psychopath, and I know if there’s rumor on the grapevine, then your invading tentacles has definitely gotten their suction cups on it. What’s this I’ve heard about my perp being seen with...chickens?”

Philososquid didn’t like being accused of being nosy. He merely was always willing and open to hearing new information, regardless of the subject at hand, as any good man of rational thinking and scientific inquisition was. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, and he didn’t like this broken old war cat suggesting that there was. Still... “Yes, I’ve heard about this.” Philososquid admitted, “It’s basically what you’ve heard. Your ever elusive silverfish has been seen lately in the company of that local clan of war chickens. You know the ones, those barbarians who dyed all of their feathers silly colors and like to pick fights with anything that can fly. I think they’ve possibly recruited him as a soldier, though thats entirely heresy, mind you.”

Old Claws considered this, brows furrows, the frown lines around him mouth deepening, though you couldn’t tell under his thinning fur. He had worried this would be the case. The arsonist had found a community willing to protect him, and community of other criminals who didn’t understand that the glitchy bastard didn’t care if you were a friend or a foe or an innocent bystander, he would still eventually set fire to everything in sight. If he didn’t hurry, those chickens would all be barbecue before the day was over. Which only meant that he would have to hurry. “Where are these chickens?” he asked the chatty squid.

Philososquid did the equivalent of a shrug, a mildly impressive feat for a creature without shoulders, “They move around a lot, but I can say that the last time I heard about them, they were on the higher hills, just before the mountains to the south. Perhaps they haven't moved on yet. Now is there anything else I can help you with, detective, or may I finally be allowed to return to my company in peace?”

Old Claws didn’t answer, he just turned with his tail high in the air and slowly wandered off to the south, clearly determined to make use of his new information. Rude old bastard. Whatever, the squid was not about to be disturbed by any of the cats foolish mannerisms; he would simply go back to his friend, and have a real, interesting discussion.

He would just have to find him again, as apparently The Other Squid had been carried away by the mild current at some point. Oh, well...shit.

-

Wow, both of those guys are a bit bent in the head, aren’t they. I don’t know about you, reader, but I’m glad to be rid of the squid by this point of the story. I can’t stay awake any time that rambling idiot opens his scary-as-shit, pointy teethed assmouth! Honestly. Anyway, we could follow the cat on his trip to the hills, but to be honest the guy can’t move any faster than a turd down a dried pipe, and we’d be watching him for ages. Besides, Old Claws there isn’t the only animal having difficulty today. Lets go check in on our favourite group of pigs and monsters, yeah? I think by this point of the story, that crazy bitch Matilda has gone and wandered off again.

-

“Thomas! Thomas!” Eric shouted through the field, his baritone voice ripping through the sleeping pigs brain, which was a shame. He didn’t get too much sleep these days. Too many nightmares about zombies eating his brains and lightning mutating his skin. You know, regular, everyday problems pigs have. “Thomas, you have to help me! She’s...she’s gone! Left me in my most dire time of need!”

“Wha...?” Tom murmured, still somewhat asleep as he drearily got his feet, “...gone?...Who’s gone? ...Why are you in need?”

The half of his face that still had enough working nerve endings to express emotions glared at him, as Eric pointed at himself and insisted hotly, “Look at me! Do you think this is easy, being a Zombie Pigman!? I’m always in need! And Matilda has left me in it! The, the....bitch!”

Tom sighed to reminded himself to be patient. Eric had been a good friend to him, back when they had both been pigs, and it was important to not let his friends electricity-injured mad brain scare him away. Or annoy him too much. Because the tall mutated pig didn’t say much that made sense these days, and that could get frustrating as a Notch-damned hell. “...She’s a Zombie, Eric...she probably fell into a hole or something...where did you last see her?”

“No, no, not this time, Tom, not this time!” Eric lamented as he paced back and forth between his mildly exasperated friend, “This time she’s gone and left me! I...I saw her, Thomas. With another man.”

Now this piqued Tom’s interest, who raised a naked eyebrow at him, “Wha...really? Who?”

Eric chuckled to himself, full of bitterness, “Oh, you know what they say, Thomas. The girls, they like their men tall, dark, and handsome in Matilda’s eyes, no doubt, the whore. I just don’t know what to do, Thomas! How can a pigman bear to stand such constant trials?! Ugh, I need a damned drink.”

Ah, now that was something Tom could get behind, “Well, you do owe me a trip to a bar,” Tom said with a great deal more energy than he put into most things these days, continuing on, “Come on Eric..lets just forget about the zombie...I’ll buy the first round.”

“You’re a pig, Tom, you don’t carry money.” Eric reminded him flatly, but the two still went out, and managed to get drinks somehow, because sometimes stories just work like that.

-

Better lovestory than Twilight, the tale of Tom, Eric and Matilda. ‘Course, thats not saying much. So while our pig and a half go and get themselves sloshed over what barely counts as a woman, lets push this story to the south of the map and see what the crazy crew of chickens are up to. Something stupid and dangerous, no doubt.

-

The General fucking hated that weepy Ghast. 

The General, in which this story refers to the grey, head chicken as, was at his perch at the top of the hill, glaring with the same amount of heat as could be found in the nethers bowel, as the now familiar large shape of the ghast floated past, never giving him a second glance. The General, as a rule, found all flying creatures to be filthy, disgusting, unnatural creatures (For if Notch had wanted mobs to fly, certainly he would have given his only winged creatures the ability to do so. If a chicken couldn’t fly, then Notch damn it all, neither would anything else on The Generals watch!), but this particular flying creature he despised the most. Mostly because he just would. Not. Die!

The chickens had literally thrown everything at him! Everything! TNT, arrows, small bits of stones, their own damned eggs even! Nothing phased this big bastard of a mob! Anything that even managed to make a direct hit always just bounced off his big, thick skin, the weeping giant never even looking up as he flew aimlessly around, dazzled and confused by the land of sun. And even barring the fact that he was a depraved flying creature, the damned thing was a Nether born creature! He had no right to be tainting Notches chosen, sunny lands, which belonged to the good and gentle chicken by right! He. Had. To. Die!

And now, the clan just might have the mob who could do the job!

They had heard of his proficiency at death and murder and mayhem through the grapevine, and The General had sought him out and recruited him himself. True, the glitchy abomination hadn’t exactly agreed to be brought into the war, but neither had he objected. He just sort of jumped about a bit and occasionally sang. He also occasionally, and to The Generals endless frustration, set fire to the hill that the chickens had brought him to, and had done this so much in just that day that the silverfish was now under constant surveillance, to keep him from burning them all alive. Dangerous, certainly, but The General had been looking for danger when he had recruited him, and he would be a powerful weapon against the giant weeping monster. There was, however, only one problem.

The General could not figure out how he was going to get the Ghast close enough to the Silverfish so as to catch fire. He had racked and racked his small, chicken brain trying to think of a suitable plan, but so far the best he had come up with was flinging the silverfish on a giant slingshot right at the ghast big, stupid face. But this felt too much like all of his plans involving TNT, which had always, literally, blown up in his face. He needed to get the Ghast on the ground. But how...

While The General considered this, on the other side of the hill music once again started off, as if from thin air, and the silverfish gently sang out, “Hi, my name is Geoff, and I’m a glitchy silverfish. Not much else left to say...”

-

Absolute nutter, that chicken. Tell me, is every character in this story just absolutely insane except for us, Phil? I don’t know Steve, you’re still bright blue from chewing on toiletry, we’re probably not the shining example of sanity ourselves, mate. Ah well, doesn’t matter, does it. Still, you know who’s worse than even us? That looney whose utterly obsessed with that hairy git who's constantly running around here. The fact that he’s got himself a little girlfriend sure as hell hasn’t helped. Lets go check on those two lovebirds.

-

Oh boy...Enderstalker knew he had done some pretty messed up things before, but...looking down at his latest project, even he knew that he was taking it too far this time. Stalking the guy was one thing. Buying him gifts was almost normal. Finding a suit like his and a black, bearded wig and putting it on a Zombie...yeah. Yeah, he was totally taking this too far now.

But it wasn’t his fault! The Zombie Pigman had given him the idea! And it wasn’t like she...or he...or it even cared! It was just a passive zombie, dressed in peoples clothes. And she...he...it did look great in the suit. Much better than she had in the low-top pink shirt and heels, anyway! Ooooh boy...stealing someone elses zombie and dressing it up...ooooh he had so taken this too far.

While Enderstalker agonized over what to do now that he had done, well...this, Matilda stood around and did what she always did, which was not much. She didn’t really care if she was in a shirt or a suit, it was all the same to her. However, if she had been given a choice, she probably would have opted out of the fake beard. It was a bit itchy. Also, she would have opted into some brains...if she could just remember how it was a zombie went about getting that. 

She wasn’t passive. She was just stupid.

Oooooh, he should just quit this. Give the zombie back to the pigs, abandon this stupid fascination with the bearded guy he had, and go back to The End to reunite with his brethren. The Enderdragon was probably worried sick about him, no Enderman ever left him for this much time without going back just as a check up, if not to drop off to her the latest block he would have found and taken. But Enderstalker hadn’t taken home any new blocks lately. He was too worried that if he went home and then came back, he wouldn’t be able to find his little human again, and he would be just...devastated! 

Even if his human couldn’t recognize him from the other Enderman, and was absolutely terrified of him. Plus his human’s friends kept killing him. Enderstalker didn’t take it personally, that was what humans did, after all, but it did get annoying, having to respawn every day. Which was why he was trying to curve the need to stalk by having with him this...very, very cheap imitation. Oh, this wasn’t working at all! Maybe he should just go...check up on his human. Just to make sure everything was okay for the day. Just one little glance...

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He told Matilda, before teleporting away. Matilda, now alone in the woods, took her new found freedom, shuffled around ever so slightly, and then stood still, dreaming about brains, and their delicious juices.

-

Phil, mate, do we really have to make some sort of benign commentary between every single scene of this story? The viewers don’t need us to tell them that Enderstalker is a freak. They can see it for themselves! Good point mate, good point. The stories more or less up and on its running legs by this point, lets give this whole meta, narrative framing a rest for a little while, til we’re necessary again, eh? Yeah, this is too much hard work, narrating like this. Lets go fill our mouths with something delicious. Or disgusting, hell, I’m partial to both myself. Good luck, readers, go on without us, we’ll meet you up later.

-

If you asked, I couldn’t tell you how many of the nine lives I got started with I have left now. There were moments in the war where I wasn’t sure if the shot had been fatal or not, the teeth against my neck too weak to bite through, or my innate feline nature using up a life to make sure it didn’t. I can’t tell you how many lives I have left. I suppose one day, without even realizing it, I’ll take a bad stumble and, poof, that last life will be gone. Don’t know what happens to a cat after that. You hear stories about respawning in some land generated in the sky...but I try not to think about that too much. Could drive a tom crazy, thinking about things like that.

No, better to go on as if I’ll go on forever, ready to do my job, no matter what the peril. That’s why when I saw the monster of a beast flying near me on the hill, I resisted the urge to bolt, tried to not let my fur noticeably stand on end, and called up to the beast, “Hey! You! I have questions regarding a perp seen in the area! Down here!”

It took awhile for the ghast to figure out where I was, and I’ll admit I was waiting for it to open those terrible eyes of his and for fire to become my whole world, another of the nine lives gone. But instead the creature floated gently down near me, and I swear I think the monster was pleased to have someone to talk to. In a surprisingly soft tone, he said to me, “Oh! Hello! I almost missed you there. You are very tiny. C-can I help you?”

Realizing I wasn’t about to be attacked, I allowed myself to relax just ever so slightly. Not much, but enough for an old fighter to feel comfortable. “I’m on an official investigation on the wanted criminal known as Geoff. He’s a silverfish, and his major characteristics is being a glitchy bastard. He was last seen with a group of chickens. Son, if you’ve seen him or said chickens, I need you to tell me where and when, and anything else you might know. Lives depend on it.”

The Ghast seemed to take my warning to heart, gasping slightly, “O-oh wow! Well, now that you mention it, I might have seen some chickens, but I’m not sure. Its hard to pay attention to what's happening below when you’re flying so high in the air, and you all are such small little things.”

The nether creature was friendly enough, but I needed information, so I put a little hiss in my voice and squared my shoulders a bit as I said, “I need you to think, kid. Where’d you see those chickens? Which way were they heading?”

“O-oooh---oooooh.” The ghast whimpered gloomily, trying hard to think now under the pressure of the investigators gaze, “It was...I think it was near my portal. The Nether portal in the mountains. I don’t know what the chickens were doing near there, the portal is closed now. I suppose I could relight it, but ooo--oooo--oooh, they really didn’t want me to join the party. And I really wanted to go. I love hardstyle, and they sounded like they were having so much fun! Oo----oooo---oooh!”

A lot of what he had just said didn’t make much sense to me, but witnesses could be like that sometimes, adding in useless information, sometimes ignoring my questions altogether. But the Ghast had answered my question, in a roundabout kind of way. The chickens were near a nether portal, and my perp was with them. Only one thing to do now. “Kid, what’s your name?” I asked the wheepy ghast.

“G-g-gloomy.” Whimpered the Ghast. 

Who the hell named their kid ‘Gloomy’? Maybe it was a Nether thing. Didn’t matter. “Gloomy, you’re going to take me to this portal of yours.” I said, every muscle in my feline body tense. I was on the trail. He was close. Geoff the glitchy silverfish had better run, because Old Claws was on his tail!

-

Ross wasn’t sure how he kept ending up alone in these woods. But it sure as hell kept happening. 

It was bizarre. In the dangerous Forsaken Lands, or the Vast Skylands, or the kill-happy lands of From Ashes, Ross had very little trouble staying with his little trio, keeping close and fortified. But take him to the wilderness just out of sight of his home in the Feed The Beast home, and BOOM. Separated and utterly lost. He had been looking for Alsmiffy and Trottimus for the last fifteen minutes, and was beginning to suspect that the two were ditching him on purpose as a joke. Freaking assholes.

But if this was a joke, then this zombie had to be a part of it, and if it was, then it wasn’t fucking funny.

“Hrrrnnnggg.” Said the zombie casually, inexplicably not eating Ross’s face, despite the fact that he had no sword handy, and as always, had not thought to make himself any armor before coming down to the woods. By all rights, he should be dead right now. Not staring at an apparently passive zombie who was, by the way, dressed exactly like him, but with hints of smudged make-up on its face.

...Why was there a zombie dressed exactly like him but with old makeup on its face!?!

Staring at the thing was probably one of the most surreal experiences he had ever had, and he kind of wished the zombie would just eat him or go away, ending the nightmare one way or another. But the zombie seemed perfectly happy to just stand around, just existing and being...creepy. Creepy as fuuuuck. Was his hair really that curly?

To the right of him came two footsteps, and years of traveling together tipped Ross off that his friends had just stumbled upon him and the zombie before either of them even spoke. “See, Smiff’, I told you he went this way.” Trottimus bragged. “I never steer you wrong, why do you always doubt me?”

“You didn’t tell me anything, Trott, we both saw him go this way.” Alsmiffy argued, “I was just saying that he could have turned at some point down the trail. We should have split up to cover the area.”

“Well, look, he’s here, and I was right, so...uh...” their bickering was put on hold as the two barelycountsaspeople people saw the truly fantastic scene of Ross sort of waving nervously at them while a drooling zombie dressed like him mulled about. “...what the fuck.” Trott said, voicing the situation rather eloquently. And then, because he could be very mean-spirited sometimes, Trott added in with mock confusion, “Two Ross’s!?”

It took Ross a second to register what Trott had just said, “What? Geez, mate, I know your beady eyes don’t see that well, but that’s a zom-”

Alsmiffy, quick to pick up on the joke, added in with the same amount of mock bafflement, “Oh no, Trott! There’s two Ross’s! How are we ever going to figure out which one is the real Ross?”

“What? Smiff, you too? Guy’s, I’m-”

“I don’t know, Smiff’!” Trottimus said, a touch loudly to speak over the sputtering Ross, “But we have to figure out which is the right Ross, and then kill the other one! But what if we kill the wrong Ross?!”

“What? Look, you assholes, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna let you-”

“Yep, definitely going to have to kill one of the Ross’s, only logical thing to do,” Alsmiffy said somberly, crossing his arms as he considered the situation, “So how are we going to figure out which is which?”

Trottimus cut in before Ross even had a chance to protest, “Series of challenges between the two Ross’s to see which Ross is the real Ross?”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Alsmiffy agreed.

“I hate both of you.” Ross said with some edge to his tone.

“Hrrrnnnng.” the zombie agreed.

-

“Women are...hic...women are complicated, Thomas.” Eric said miserably, the pig and a half both shakily making their way down the field, both having had more than their share of the swill they had managed to obtain in ways this story does not care to explain, “They’re complicated and...hic...mad. One second, everything is fine, her firm, swinging ass is yours, and no one else’s to fondle, and the next....hic...some tall skinny bastard just comes along and...and steals her heart!”

Tom was having trouble speaking, and said even slower than usual, “Ah....Eric...there are other, you know....zombies. Zombies....better than Matilda...less flesh falling off...it’s gonna be okay, man.”

“No!” Eric said, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically, and with a great deal more flexibility than a block animation might be able to suggest, “No, hic, Thomas! I don’t want any other woman! She...Matilda was my girl! My, hic, my beautiful, sexy zombie girl! And I...I...” Eric suddenly growled. It was a curiously primal sound. “ I want to find that piece of shit Enderman and, hic...show him who her man is!”

“You...want to fight...an Enderman?” Tom asked. Even in his heavily slowed down, intoxicated brain, warning bells were going off, “Eric...I don’t think...we would win, man. Aren’t Enderman like....magical demons from The End? A monster?”

“Yes, well, you forget, Thomas.” Eric said, a dangerous glint in his eye as he brought out his ragged, golden sword. “Technically...so am I.”

… ”Hic.”

-

“Leeeeewiiiis!” Shouted Creeper!Simon, who was staring keenly over the mountain edge at something down at the lower rocks, “Lewis! Come look! There are little chickens down there! Oh, can we go look, Lewis!?”

Creeper!Lewis sighed, already feeling the onslaught of a headache coming on. The day had been going so peacefully as well. “No, Simon, no, we can’t go look. You know how this goes, you’ll get overly excited and explode, and then I’ll have to go all the way to our spawn point to come fetch you, and the whole day will be wasted. Come on, there’s a nice sunny rock just over here, lets just sit here and have a nice, relaxing rest.”

“Little chickens, Lewis!” Creeper!Simon shouted again, giving no indication that he had heard what his friend had said, still staring down with glee at the sight below, “Oh, look! They’re working out hiding places around that Nether Portal, Lewis! Why are they doing that? Lets go ask them, can we go ask them Lewis!?”

“No, Simon,” Creeper!Lewis said firmly, creeping over to Creeper!Simons side as he too peered down to see what the fuss was about, “I just told you why we can’t go down there, not till you learn to control that TNT in your belly. What are those guys doing down there though?” He asked, watching as indeed the colorful group of chickens seemed to be rooting around for hiding places in the mountain area around where the closed Nether Portal was. Didn’t they know that area was dangerous? A Ghast was almost constantly coming back to the thing, to talk to some nether creatures on the other side of it. “Those chickens are done for if Gloomy takes a dislike to them, stupid things.” Creeper!Lewis predicted darkly, before turning to his excitable friend, “Come on, Simon, leave them to it. We’re gonna go rest for a bit, okay? I mean it, lets go.”

“Okay,” Creeper!Simon said sadly, turning away from the view below before immediately brightening up as he squealed, “Oh, Lewis! Lewis, look! It’s the little silverfish again! Hiiiii little Silverfish!”

“No! No, not again! Geoff, Geoff please! No!”

“AUUUUUGGGGGH!”

From below, The General looked up curiously to where the glitchy silverfish has said he was going to relax for awhile while the chickens did their planning. In the distance he saw fire. He ordered two of his men to go up and put it out, not wanting their position to be given away by the flames. That demented little bug was a loose cannon, alright...but that heat. It had to be enough to burn the Ghast to death. Working with Geoff would be worth it, if it kept the air clear of abominations.

Now all they had to do was wait...

-

“Now, I don’t know about you Trott, but as far as I was concerned, Ross has the absolute best Zombie impression that I have ever seen.” Alsmiffy said as the two stood in front of both the Ross contestants. To ‘tell them apart’, they had placed both possible Ross’s in front of signs, one saying ‘Ross 1’, the other ‘Ross 2. 

Matilda was Ross 1, Ross was Ross 2.

Ross 2 looked over at Alsmiffy in open confusion, “What? I don’t think I’ve ever done a zombie impression bef-”

“No, no, I would absolutely agree with that, Smiff’, great zombie impressions, Ross has.” Trottimus easily cut Ross 2 off. They were both getting very good at that, “So, whoever does the best zombie impression simply must be our Ross. Problem solved.”

“And the Ross who does a bad zombie impression, gets the end of my arrows.” Alsmiffy continued cheerfully, holding up his bow. “Okay, Ross 1, if you want to go first, zombie impression....now!”

Ross 1 shuffled around a bit and seemed, in general, uninterested in whatever was going on. She growled lightly. It was proving to be a long day.

Both Alsmiffy and Trottimus erupted into enthusiastic applause over the performance, “Wow, an amazing impression of a zombie from Ross 1, I almost thought he was one! Great job, Ross 1, you might earn the spot as Ross yet! Okay, Ross 2, can you top that?” Trottimus asked Ross 2, who was giving him the stink-eye.

“It’s a zombie, I can’t compete with a zombie in a being a zombie contest! Alsmiffy don’t you dare!” Ross barked as Alsmiffy readied his bow casually, “You both just wait, when we get home, I’m enclosing your beds in obsidian cages! Ow, hey watch it!” Ross gasped as an arrow grazed his arm, taking away half a heart. “What the fuck Alsmiffy!?”

“Zombie impression, mate, or the next one goes through the heart.” Alsmiffy said, cocking the bow back.

“Ugh, just....okay fine!” Ross shouted, lifting his arms half heartedly, “Um...grrr.”

“That was a terrible impression.” Trottimus said flatly, turning to Smiff, “Ross 1 is definitely our Ross, best kill Ross 2 and be done with it.”

“What?! No, no, no! Hold on, okay,” Ross said hurriedly, hunching his shoulders and holding his hands out stiffly, “Hrrrr...grrrrr....brains?”

“Hmmmm...Ross 1 didn’t say brains.” Alsmiffy pointed out, lowering the bow a bit, “A must have in any zombie impression, the word ‘brains’, yeah?”

“I agree. Ugh, they both did so well, I can’t tell.” Trottimus sighed dramatically, “better have another contest, just to be sure. I recall Ross being pretty good at jumping puzzles, right?”

“Oh yeah, the absolute best at jumping puzzles.” Alsmiffy agreed.

“Oh, come on!”

-

“What the hell? Phil, mate, what happened?” Asked Steve, looking around the sunny field they were in suspiciously, “What are we doing back in this story...and with proper quotation marks and everything!”

“Not sure, mate.” Phil said, eyeing some nearby flowers with a hungry eye, “I think this time we might be actually properly in the story, rather than just being used as a framing device for it. Makes sense really, we are fan-favourites, you and I. Had to make an appearance at some point.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then.” Steve said, “But if we’re in the story properly as characters now, why are we still all-knowing? Shouldn’t we have been blinded by the fourth wall by now? Only proper.”

“I think that’s because in this scene, we’re not so much characters as a plot device to introduce another character, thus keeping us as a sort of narrating figure. See, look, over in the distance. That bitch remind you of anyone?”

Steve peered into the distance before sighing in aggravation, “Oh, no, it’s the looney fox lady who tried to eat us last time she was here, what was her name, voiced by that other youtuber lady...Foxxy? What’s she doing here?”

“Hunting us, ain’t she.” Phil said, not terribly concerned, “And I imagine the point of this scene is going to really take off once Old Claws coming around the corner over there stumbles onto her. Ah well, mate, might as well let it happen, story will go on with or without us, and we only need to be background dressing by this point. Let’s fill our stomachs a bit while the plot goes on, shall we?”

“Yeah, alright, lets.”

-

She hadn’t actually been out looking for a hunt, but when Foxxy had spotted her old escaped prey, Phil and Steve, just out in the clearing, she had marveled at how tiny the potentially infinite world of Minecraft could be, and then decided she was feeling a bit peckish. She didn’t really need to eat both of them, though, so she stood behind the shadow of some tallest trees and considered carefully which sheeps wool she would finally bite her teeth into, and it was as she was considering this that above her she heard the distant cries of a ghast, and behind her she heard someone say, “Well, look who it is...my favourite murderous.”

Foxxy looked behind her, and though she hadn’t seen him in ages, somehow she still wasn’t surprised to see Old Claws there, looking just as tired and worn and edged as she had always seen him. For a brief moment she couldn’t remember if she had washed her fur this morning, and then remember she had, she straightened her shoulders and puffed out her chest a bit and said to the old tomcat, “Old Claws...didn’t think I’d see you around anymore after that business with the ShroomCow.”

“Didn’t think I’d come around after that,” Old Claws said stiffly, the failed case of the missing ShroomCow still a sore wound. After all, he should have known the only carnivorous animal, the wolf, was responsible. But Foxxy had looked at him with those big eyes of her, and somehow...well, that was the past. “A new case brought me back, chasing after a pryo maniac who's already taken out a villages worth of people. You know anything about that?”

“Does fire really seem like my thing, detective?” The wolf argued, licking her paws carefully to get the dirt off, “Well, it was fun catching up, but don’t let me keep you. I was just off to get some lunch myself.”

“Don’t think that’s going to work out for you, sweetheart,” Old Claws said pointedly, looking into the field that she had been hunting, “My young friend up in the sky is leading me to my perp, and I think his presence just frightened off your latest victims. “

“What?” Foxxy said, looking over to the now empty field and growling, “Shoot, how do I lose those two every time?”

“Best you did. I’d have taken you in, for that.” Old Claws said firmly, “Don’t let me hear of any more animals getting ripped to shreds and eaten, Foxxy. I’ll know who to come looking for, and it won’t be like last time. I’m wise to you now.”

“Sure you are, Claws, sure you are.” Foxxy said, as she watched the old tomcat shuffle past her, heading towards his Ghast guide, “But it isn’t murder if a girls got to eat, Claws. I argued it then, I’ll argue it now.”

“Yeah, well, maybe the jury won’t be so soft this time. I guess we’ll both see.” Old Claws said, walking away.

For a brief moment, Foxxy wanted to ask Old Claws if he had missed her, even a little bit. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, which was probably for the best. When Claws got out of view, she considered hunting for the sheep again...but nah. She wasn’t really up to it. Not now.

-

“Oh...oh...oh! Ooooh, so close,” The green one without a mouth said as his human once again fell off the jumping spiral tower, “Go on then, Ross 2, try again.”

“I’ve already tried five times now! When does Ross 1 have a go at it!?” his human argued, brushing the dirt off of his pants as beside him the zombie dressed like him shuffled around.

“Now, now, no complaining, our Ross would never have complained about a simple jumping puzzle. Right Smiff?” the walrus said, hands on his hips and a big grin on his face. 

“Absolutely, never complained, our Ross. Now up the tower!” Alsmiffy said, cocking his bow again.

Enderstalker watched all this with a curious fascination. His human really wasn’t very good at jumping puzzles, as once again he watched the black haired man fail to double jump across two slightly curved angles. He had been watching this for a solid twenty minutes now, when he had promised himself that he was only going to check in on his human. Goodness, he really should be getting back home, getting a proper hobby, like...crosswords or something. 

Maybe he’d just watch for five more minutes, just to see if his human managed to best the jump at some point. Just five more minutes...

“Hey!” Said a voice behind Enderstalker, “Hey, you! You think...hic, you think you can just....hic!”

Enderstalker turned around and looked down to see a zombie pigman and a small pig looking blearily up at him, the smell of whiskey coming off of them in waves. He didn’t recognize them for two seconds before he realized that the zombie pigman was the one he had seen hanging out with his imitation human. Oh boy.

The zombie pigman was coming up to him, in a roundabout, staggering sort of way, “You think you can just take, hic, a man’s girl and just, hic, live happily ever after!? Well, pal, you have another thing-woah!” 

Enderstalker disappeared as Eric tried to jab him in the chest with one of his mutilated fingers, instincts kicking in and teleporting off to safety, wherever that might be. Eric, who had somewhat forgotten that Endermen could do this, blinked at the spot where his nemesis had been standing two seconds before in open confusion before his eyes focused, and there! “Look, Thomas, look!” Eric exclaimed pointing in the distance ahead, “It’s Matilda! Dressed like a lesbian! With three other guys! The whore!”

Tom tried to get his own eyes to focus as well, the world having gone a bit wavy, before seeing what his friend was talking about, “Oh...oh, Eric, we....we shouldn’t mess with them. Matilda’s with...humans. They’ll murder us for the fun of it.”

“Nonsense!” Eric said, feeling very brave with his golden sword in hand, already staggering forward, “I’m going to get my woman back, and as my friend you will help me, Thomas. Now come on!”

-

“Well, both Ross’s failed the jumping puzzle by...quite a bit.” Alsmiffy said, looking up at the small tower in which Ross had only been able to get up a few stones worth, “So they both fail that one. What else can we have them do?”

“What? Come on, it failed it way worse than I did!” Ross accused, pointing at the zombie, “It didn’t even try! I must get more points for at least attempting it!”

“Listen, Ross 2, you don’t get points for trying, you get points for succeeding,” Trottimus scolded, considering their surroundings for a while before saying, “Well, the Ross I knew was very good at standing on one hand and singing-zombie pigman!”

“Zombie pigman?” Ross asked, confused, “I don’t think I know that song.”

“What? No, it’s a zombie pigman Ross, come on, run!” Trottimus shouted, grabbing Ross’s collar and tugging him along as Alsmiffy aimed an arrow at the approaching zombie pigman, who was growling at them menacingly, “No, forget it Smiff, me and Ross don’t have weapons, just run!”

Alsmiffy, who only had two arrows left anyway, nodded before chasing after the other two, the three running off into the distance, towards the mountains to the south. Which was a good thing for them, considering they missed out on the scene where the zombie pigman started messily making out with the zombie dressed as Ross, and the pig beside them hurling its stomach out at the sight.

As will we, dear reader. As will we. Well, with that subplot wrapped up, lets go check on Old Claws. He and Gloomy should have made it to the Nether Portal by now, we wrecken, where the chicken clan hides in waiting.

-

The nether portal, as it always was, was pumping out a steady beat of Ghast Hardstyle music from the party that laid on the other side of it. As every Nether specialist new, nether parties could last days, or even weeks, or however long a party needed to last in order to keep a series of sketches going. This party, for the sake of plot convenience, had been going on for ages, and to be fair, it’s only two partiers were getting a little bit sick of it.

“Mate, these hard, rocking tunes, while of course the greatest thing the musical talents of the world has ever given us, is still giving me a bloody, fucking headache. Can we go home now?” Said the higher pitched voice from the other side of the portal.

Lower pitched voice said, “Yeah, we’ll go in a second, just waiting for my ears to stop bleeding is all. Too much rock to handle, I wrecken.”

“They’re not going to stop bleeding until we leave here, mate, the music is too loud.”

“What?”

“I said the music is too loud!”

“Mate, my ears are bleeding, speak up you bastard!”

“I said-!”

“Guuys?” Called out Gloomy, who had finally floated down to the portal, Old Claws just behind him, “Guuuys, it’s me! I’ve brought a friend!”

“Oh, damn it all, it’s that moaning, whinging piece of shit, come to ruin our banging tracks, again.”

“Oi, you, didn’t we say you had to take that soft voice out of here! We didn’t want you coming back!”

Gloomy tried not to be too hurt by this. The fellows would come around to him someday, he was certain. He just had to be persistent, and not lose his temper and fire blast them all to death. Which he could totally do if he wanted to. Just saying. “Well, we’re not really here for the party today, I’m afraid. My friend is looking for someone.”

“Fuck off, you twit, you don’t have friends, you crying moaning bastard. You don’t deserve any!” 

“Ooo---ooooh guuuys, don’t be like that, come on.” Gloomy moaned miserably.

Old Claws wasn’t really paying attention to this exchange, his ears on the back of his head as he looked around, fur standing on edge. Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something was definitely off. 

He saw the TNT fly into the air before he heard it, block exploding above their heads. Gloomy gasped and ducked down, looking up before saying miserably, “Oh no, not these guys again.”

And as if out of nowhere in the rocks in the rocks above them stepped out what had to have been a dozen chickens, each with a mad gleam in its eyes. One chicken stood out amongst the rest, a gray chicken with colorful feathers, who looked down at them menacingly

“Ca-caw.” Gloated the General.

“Who are these guys, kid?” Old claws said to Gloomy, who was now drifting beside him.

“I don't know, they just keep showing up.” Gloomy said, “they try and throw things at me a lot, but it doesn't hurt because I'm quite a bit bigger then all of them. But I always have to be very careful not to accidentally explode them all. Its very hard and scary.”

“Ca-caw!” interrupted The General, looking at something in the distance, “ca-ca, ca-caw..ca!”

He didn't hear him. He didn't see him. but Old Claw suddenly knew that he was there. He turned slowly, ready for a surprise attack, but the thing just stood there, jumping slightly, ever so subtly glitching the fuck out of everything.

“Hi.” said Geoff, “My name is Geoff.”

Geoff considered Old Claws for a while, who was flexing his claws, waiting to see who would strike first, if anyone; and though it was hard to tell on his little silver face, Old Claws will swear to the day his ninth life was up that the little psychopath smirked.

“Everything’s on fire” said Geoff.

And shit, everything was! How did he do that!?

“”Ooooooo-oooooh nooo-oooo!” Gloomy shouted, looking around at all the fire, because suddenly it was everywhere. On instinct Gloomy started to fly before remembering he wasn’t there alone. looking down at his feline friend. “Come here, I’ll grab you and fly us out of here!”

“Go one without me, I've got business here.” Old Claws said, butt in the air and tail twitching as he kept his eyes on Geoff, who made no move to flee, “Go!”

Though worried about his companion, Gloomy the Ghast did not need to go be told twice as he began to climb through the air. But this was exactly what The General was ready for, and to some of his brethren he ordered “ca-caw!”

The cannon was ready, and TNT flew through the air in the way the chickens would never be able to. Gloomy only just managed to duck the force of the blow by floating back down, the fire licking at his tentacles. The fire was spreading, so he tried to fly again, but again a blast of TNT stopped his ascent and forced him back down.

“Nooo-oooo, why are you doing this!?” Gloomy wailed.

The General just gleamed down at him, victory in his sights. Realizing there’d be no mercy there, Gloomy turned to the portal. “Uhhh, guys? Everything is trying to murder me and my friend out here.” Gloomy said, as another TNT went off over his head, and chicken setting one off just for the hell of it. “Could you...open the portal and let us come to the party, please?”

“What? No, bug off.” Deep voice said through the blaring of the hardstyle music, “Who cares if you die?”

“Yeah, I hope you do, you whining, moaning bastard.” Said high pitch voice, “Go die!”

Both of the voices laughed at this, and Gloomy was starting to really consider telling them both off. Not allowing him to stay at the party and banishing him from his home to a foreign, hostile planet was one thing. Leaving him to almost certain death? So rude.

Though Old Claws would have liked to focus on his prey, he could help but notice the exchange going on behind him, and he dared look away from Geoff long enough to assess the situation around him. The fire was getting higher and spreading, but the chickens wouldn’t let the Ghast rise. The kid would get engulfed in the flames at any moment if this bullshit kept up.

Old Claws struggled with what he knew would have to be done, looking over at Geoff with true hate in his heart. Once upon a time this had been just a case, the silverfish just another perp to be caught and then thrown to the justice system to deal with. Now though...now Old Claws knew it was personal. He’d never stop hunting the mass-mudering psychopath, and the day he caught him would be a damn good day.

But that wasn’t today.

“Don’t think you’re safe,” the detective told Geoff, “I’ve cornered you once, I’ll get you again.”

He turned away from Geoff and climbed the walls of the mountain around them. He leaped from rock to rock, aiming for The General. He went by a TNT cannon where two lackey chickens blocked his way, attempting to scream and peck at him with their sharp beaks. He scratched one of their eyes, and kicked the other one down into the fires below. He didn’t check to see if the chicken landed safely or not. He didn’t care.

He got to the cannon being manned by The General and another lackey, both of them standing with their little chicky shoulders squared in defense against him. Old Claws wasn’t afraid. He had known and fought creatures with hearts of stone and claws like diamond swords, people so wicked and villainous that had Old Claws not dedicated his life to fighting them, he might have actually been in awe of them. The General was not one of these creatures. The chicken wasn’t hard; he was just stupid and insane, leading others who were even more so.

Easy.

“Tell your men to let the kid through, or you find out if there is actually a heaven in skylands.” Old Claws hissed, moving towards them.

“Ca-caw.” The General said defiantly. Despite his brave words, though, he and his men sitll backed away from Old Claws as he inched closer and closer to them. He took a step. So did they. He moved sligtly to the right. They moved slightly to the left, always keeping their front to him, never looking at their feet. Stupid birds. “Caw-caw!”

“Really? Well, fine.” Old Claws said, “But before you decide to go down with a fight, it looks to me like this button here sets off this real nifty TNT cannon that you’ve gone and built for yourselves.” He said, placing a furry paw lightly on the button in front of him, “And forgive an old cat if he’s wrong, but it also looks to me like you're standing on the TNT its meant to set off.”

The General blinked dimly at him for a moment before looking down at his feet. Big blocks with the letters TNT printed onto them did indeed stand beneath his talons. When had they walked down the nose of the cannon?! Possible death in glorious battle was one thing, but if the cat pushed that button, certain death...the feeling of fear formed in The Generals stomach, hard and heavy. He looked at the cat and glared. “...caw?”

“Tell your idiots to let the kid through.” Old Claws repeated, “I won’t say it again.”

There would be vengeance! There would be war! There would be punishment!...but first The General had to walk away from this. He looked around to his men who were eyeing the situation carefully before shouting, “Ca-caw!”

One by one the remaining clan of chicken disappeared back to whatever holes they had appeared from in the first place, the General and his men themselves inching off the cannon until all the chicken were gone and they were free from the TNT. Old Claws hissed at him lightly as The General got too close to him for comfort, but the two chickens walked by him, and disappeared as well. Deciding they were indeed gone, Old Claws shouted down to Gloomy, “The way is clear! Fly, kid, fly!”

“O-okay!” Gloomy said, rising up. This time no TNT shot him back down, and the Ghast was away.

Old Claws looked around, ready for some sort of last minute attack from the chickens, but none occurred, and this felt curiously wrong. Maybe he was going soft. Back in the day he would have killed The General on principal and frightened his men away. First Foxxy, now the chickens, and Geoff...Old Claws peered into the flames and wasn’t surprised to see Geoff was gone.

But the kid was safe, and Old Claws wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t consider that a win. They had all only escaped for now. The cat climbed the mountain side, and escaped the flames.

-

“What the hell,” Trott said after a moment, “was that?”

The three hatventurers, who had caught the whole final scene from the top of the mountain looking down at it, watched as the cat and the ghast actually seemed to meet back up after escaping the fire down below by the Nether portal, and a shit-ton of chickens were running around as well.

“Wow. I don’t know, that was weird.” Alsmiffy said, “This has just been kind of a weird day in general. Can we go home now?”

“Not just yet, ya filthy bitch,” Said Steve, the two sheep inexplicably standing next to the three Sirs, causing the boys to jump in genuine shock.

“Oh no, not you two again!” Ross said, the three backing away from the sheep nervously, “You said last time was the last time we’d have to test a mod for you. You swore!”

“No, no, no more kidnappings, or explosives, or musical numbers! We’ve had it with you two!” Trottimus said, though safely from the back of the group, because Notch-damn those sheep terrified him. “Ross’s right, you promised!”

“You should never trust a sheep, mate, we’re hideous liars. Utterly shameless about it too, disgusting creatures, we are,” Phil admitted, “But relax, that’s not why we’re here.”

“Yeah, we’re still narrating this thing, and there’s one character left that still needs to make his bloody cameo.” Steve explained, “And since he didn’t really fit anywhere else in the story, we’re just gonna throw him at you and call it a day.”

“Okay,” Alsmiffy said with a touch of uncertainty, “You’re throwing...who at us?”

And in the distance, coming in quickly, they heard ,”OhGodmakeitstopmakeitstopMAKEITSTOP!”

“Blaze!” Ross screamed, the hatventuerers running for their lives as the mob screamed its way up to them, shooting fire and causing more mayhem to the already burning wilderness. The three probably didn’t get away, but we didn’t stay around to check. Way too warm for our wool.

Well, that’s the story. We did warn you it was a mostly pointless one. If there’s anything to learn from the story, its that you should always avoid writing the scene where a zombie pigman is messily making out with a gender-confused zombie amongst a river of pig puke. Holy fuck, what a mental image.

Good day.


End file.
